


Between Two Worlds

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, First Time, M/M, Next-Gen, Romance, Time Travel, Time-Turner
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-02-11
Updated: 2012-02-12
Packaged: 2017-10-30 22:48:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/337042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Albus Potter and Scorpius Malfoy are long-time frenemies. But what happens when both are presented with the opportunity to visit the war-torn world their fathers once inhabited? Will the truth give them a chance to better understand themselves or only force them further apart?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Across the Universe

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really excited about this fic. I've been meaning to start a chaptered Harry Potter fic for ages but I've held off so far as I just didn't have anything to write about. And then this popped into my head, almost fully-formed. Hope you like!
> 
> P.S. I can cross 'time travel' off my list now.

~o~

 

“Psst! Potter!”

Albus halted in his tracks and slowly turned around. He frowned; the corridor was seemingly empty. He shook his head, chalking up the phantom voice to severe lack of sleep, and carried on walking several paces before something, or rather _someone_ , grabbed his elbow. “What the—”

“Honestly, you are such a dolt, Albus Potter,” said a low, scathing voice behind him. “How you managed to scrape even one OWL still perplexes me. And before you say anything, I want you to know that nothing will convince me you didn't sleep with one of the examiners. It was Peterson, wasn't it?”

Albus yanked his arm away and turned around, folding his arms across his chest. “Malfoy,” he said, managing to make the name sound like an exclamation of disgust. “What do you want?”

With a rustling noise, the air in front of Albus shimmered and Scorpius Malfoy appeared, flush-cheeked and smirking. “Ta-da.”

Albus glared at him. “Ta-da?” he repeated, stiffly. “You stole my dad's cloak, didn't you? You've been in my room again—you've rifled through my things—and all you have to say is ta-da?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “I didn't steal it, I _borrowed_ it. There's a large ethical difference there, Potter. And besides, it isn't my fault you lot have such a lacklustre security system in place, is it? It took me all of fifteen minutes to learn the new password; you might want to have a little chat with your first-years about talking to strangers. Honestly, a bright smile and the promise of sweets and they were putty in my hands—I could have been a raper or anything.”

“The word is _rapist_ ,” Albus told the boy witheringly. “Now either tell me what you want or give me back my cloak and piss off. I'm really busy in case you hadn't noticed.”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes at Albus. “You know what, Potter? If you're not careful you're going to lose the best frenemy you've ever had.”

“But you're not my friend _or_ my enemy,” Albus pointed out with a non-committal shrug. “In fact, you're not anything to me at all, so I don't really care.” Malfoy flinched a little—or at least Albus thought he did—and Albus experienced a tiny stab of regret for being so nasty. Malfoy was a mild annoyance, just like he'd always been, but neither boy had ever possessed any real malice toward the other. They were, just as Malfoy had so accurately described, frenemies; sometimes—rarely—even _friends_.

Besides, Albus knew Malfoy was sensitive to this sort of thing and was more than capable of holding onto a grudge for monstrous lengths of time. It probably wasn't the best idea to deliberately upset him: He was, after all, a Slytherin; and a very cunning one at that.

With this in mind Albus let out a sigh and bit his lip. “I'm sorry,” he said grudgingly. “I don't mean to be a prick, it's just that I've got a lot going on at the moment and I'm sort of on edge. I'm snapping at everyone today; it's nothing personal.”

Malfoy narrowed his slate-coloured eyes, still looking rather haughty and offended, and said, “I'll let this one slide, Potter, but you should watch what you say to me.”

“Or what?” Albus snorted.

“Or I'll do something awful to you while you're sleeping,” Malfoy replied with perfect seriousness. “I've so many wonderful ideas—a whole journal full of them, actually—and it'd be oh so convenient to have more test subjects upon which to conduct my research. Be mindful you stay on my good side, Potter, or you might wake up one morning with nipples on your forehead.”

Albus seriously doubted the authenticity of this statement, but nodded just in case. “Alright, you've made your point, _I'm sorry_. Now what do you want? I have to get to the library and finish this Potions essay or Cross is going to flip. It's already two days late.”

“Who cares about your stupid essay; you've got all night,” Malfoy said with a wave of his slender hand. “I promise you: once you see _this_ , you're not going to give a damn about school or Potions or essays or anything like that. Just trust me.” His eyes were glittering with excitement, and Albus felt a slight pinch of curiosity as to what exactly had Malfoy so wound up.

“Fine,” Albus groaned, and hitched up his schoolbag. “But make this quick, alright? And you'd better not be yanking my chain.”

“Oh, but yanking your chain is so much _fun_...”

~o~

“Why are we in a broom cupboard?” Albus asked flatly, leaning against a wooden shelf. “This is ridiculous; couldn't you have just told me what you had to say out there in the corridor? What's with all the secrecy?”

“I like broom closets,” Malfoy airily replied. “They're cosy.”

Albus scowled in the direction of Malfoy's voice. He lifted his wand and muttered, “ _Lumos_.” Light flared across the small space, illuminating both boy's faces. Albus stared at Malfoy expectantly and waited for him to talk.

The boy's delight was evident in his face. He shuffled closer and laid his hands on Albus's shoulders. With a deep breath, he said, “You've got to promise me that what I'm about to show you never leaves this closet. Can you do that?”

Albus swallowed. “I'm confused,” he admitted. “This isn't a declaration of love or anything, is it? Because if it is, let me just warn you that this is going to be really, really embarrassing for both of us.” He was only half-joking.

Malfoy's expression faltered, like a flickering lightbulb, and he set his jaw. “Sadly for you,” he began, “this is _not_ a declaration of love. Now get your mind out of the gutter, will you?”

“But it's not in the—!”

Malfoy hushed him with a stern look. “Let's just stay on point, shall we? As I said before, can you promise me that what I'm about to show you stays between us? You can't tell anyone—not your friends, your sister; not even Rose. Agreed?”

“Fine,” Albus replied. “But why me? Why couldn't you have shared this with one of your buddies instead?”

Malfoy looked at him like he was stupid. “Are you serious, Potter? Trust a Slytherin with a secret? Don't be so ridiculous. I know I can trust you, odd as that sounds, and I also sort of wanted to brag to you and make you feel bad.” Albus glared at him and Malfoy shrugged. “You know me.”

“Yes I do, unfortunately. Look, can you just spit it out already?” Albus was growing more impatient by the second. “Come on,” he implored. “You're making me nervous now. What is it?”

Malfoy inhaled a deep breath and nodded. “Alright,” he said. “It's time.” He reached into his robes and withdrew what looked, to Albus, like an antique pocket-watch. Malfoy's eyes sparkled and he grinned as he looked down at it. “At first I wasn't sure what it was and then it sort of dawned on me. I was sceptical in the beginning—you know the story with these things—but now I'm certain. It couldn't be anything else.” He looked up at Albus, excitedly shifting his weight from foot to foot, and bit his lip. “So... Are you jealous?”

“You're a lunatic,” Albus decided, and Malfoy's face fell.

“What?”

“I know what you're thinking, Malfoy,” Albus continued, eyeing the device in Malfoy's palm, “but that is _not_ a Time-Turner. I'm sorry, but it can't be.”

“Says who?” Malfoy snapped. He looked to be on the verge of a tantrum.

“Says every history book I own,” Albus countered. “Everyone knows that the Ministry's entire stock of Time-Turners was destroyed in nineteen-ninety-six during the Battle of the Department of Mysteries. What you've got there is a replica—jewellery maybe—but it's not a Time-Turner. Sorry, Malfoy.” He was disappointed at having his time wasted yet again, but it was nothing to the disappointment on Malfoy's face.

“I found it down in the dungeons,” the blond boy explained, very quietly. “I was up late and I was bored so I decided to do a little late-night exploring...”

Albus rolled his eyes. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what Malfoy's idea of 'exploring' entailed.

“Anyway, I found myself in a room I'd never seen before—right down in the bowels of the castle. I mean, it was wet down there,” Malfoy added, looking up at Albus. “I could literally smell the water. The walls were covered in thick moss and all the rooms were boarded up. It didn't look like anyone had been down there in decades.”

Albus shifted slightly—the shelf was digging into his shoulder—and cleared his throat. “Go on,” he urged the other boy. His interest was temporarily roused.

“Well,” Malfoy said, looking back down at the object in his hand, “I blasted the locks off of one of the doors to see what was inside. It was horrible in there,” he reflected with a distant look. “It was so dusty I nearly choked, and I almost needed a shovel to wade through the cobwebs. There wasn't anything too interesting in there—some old books and broken furniture; shattered crystal balls; potion supplies which looked like they were centuries past their use-by dates—but I found a few things worth keeping. And then, just as I was about to leave, I saw _this_.”

Albus glanced down at the device in Malfoy's palm and his pulse quickened. Was it possible that Malfoy had stumbled upon a Time-Turner—a _real_ Time-Turner? His palms began to sweat.

“It was just lying there on one of the shelves, covered in a blanket of dust,” Malfoy went on. “Call me crazy but I don't think anyone had been in that room since long before nineteen-ninety-six. Potter—I found a Daily Prophet in there, all shrivelled and yellowing, and it was dated _nineteen-sixty-four_.” He looked at Albus then with a hopeful expression, as if all he needed was to be believed by him.

“I don't know, Malfoy,” Albus said slowly. “Here, let me take a look at it.”

Malfoy paused for a moment before he handed the device to Albus, who looked down at it in awe. It was definitely a Time-Turner, or at least an accurate replica. The thing was cool and heavy in his hand; it glinted brightly in the light streaming from Albus's wand. Malfoy had clearly cleaned and polished it until it shone like new.

It was truly beautiful, Albus thought as he studied it. He'd seen pictures of Time-Turners in books, of course, but nothing compared to seeing the real thing—even if it _was_ defective, as Albus was almost certain that it was. Why else would it have been abandoned? But superficially it was beautiful and artfully detailed, the tiny hourglass at the centre clear and dreadfully inviting.

Albus's gaze turned wistful. He'd listened to his father's tales about rescuing his prison-escapee godfather, Sirius Black, from the Dementor's Kiss using a Time-Turner just like this one, and Albus couldn't help feeling slightly envious of his father's adventures. What a thing of _power_ a Time-Turner was. Albus could think of no shortage of things he'd like to do, mistakes he'd _die_ to correct, if only this thing in his palm actually worked.

With a heavy sigh he said, “It's probably defective. I can't think of any other reason it would've been down there.”

“Perhaps someone stowed it away down there for safekeeping and then, I don't know, died or something,” Malfoy suggested.

“Yeah,” Albus said, though he sincerely doubted it. “Maybe.” He handed the Time-Turner back to Malfoy. “You're going to be a very rich boy if you ever hand that in,” he offered. “Even if it's broken, which it most likely is, I'll bet it's still worth a fortune. You know—to collectors and history buffs or whatever.”

Malfoy raised a brow at him. “I'm already a very rich boy,” he informed Albus drily. “And there's no way in hell I'm ever handing this thing in. If it works, and we're about to find out, then I'll be rich and invincible. I'll be the envy of the entire universe.”

Albus made a face at him. “Hang on—what do you mean we're about to find out? Malfoy, you aren't actually considering using this thing, are you? Don't be so stupid; it could be dangerous. It could _kill_ you.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “You're so dramatic,” he opined. “What's the worst that could happen?”

“Er, I don't know, you could find yourself splinched and scattered across the universe?”

“Unlikely.” Malfoy stuck out his hand. “Come on, then. You're coming with me; I won't take no for an answer.”

Albus stared at the other boy's hand. “No. _Way_.”

“Don't be such a baby,” Malfoy drawled and forcefully grabbed Albus's hand. “Look, I've already studied up on Time-Turners,” he told Albus with a serious look. “I know exactly what I'm doing; no one's going to get splinched, and I'll only take us back half an hour, alright? Come on, the worst thing that could happen is that it doesn't work.”

Albus chewed on his lip but didn't pull his hand away. “But what if something goes wrong and we end up in the Cretaceous period with giant dinosaurs on our arses or something, and then find that we can't get back?”

“That's not going to happen,” Malfoy said with a snicker. “Oh come on, Potter, _live_ a little why don't you? Aren't you excited? We can spy on ourselves!”

Albus wrinkled his nose. “No offence but that sounds kind of pervy.”

Malfoy snorted. “Hardly. There's nothing to see here, is there?” He lifted the Time-Turner with his free hand and squinted down at it. “ _I mark the hours every one nor have I yet outrun the sun. My use and value unto you are gauged by what you have to do_ ,” he read aloud and flashed a smile. “I seriously got chills just then—did you get chills just then?” Noting the sour expression on Albus's face he quickly sobered and said, “Well then, are you ready to visit the past?”

“Yay. The past. Half an hour ago,” Albus said dully, though truthfully he was beyond excited—and a little scared out of his wits, too.

“Excellent. Let's do this, then.” Malfoy held tight to Albus's now-clammy hand and carefully turned the hourglass, his brow furrowed. For a moment, nothing happened. And then the hourglass began to spin so fast that it became a blur. Albus thought it might shatter into a million minuscule shards.

He glanced up at Malfoy. “Something's not right,” he said. “Something's not—” A bright flash of light sparking off the gold silenced him. Albus had just enough time to stow his wand down the back of his trousers before the ground beneath him lurched and he felt as if he'd been sucked into a cyclone. Air pounded in his ears and he cried out, though he couldn't hear the sound of his own voice. He held fast to Malfoy, dragging the other boy's body toward him and clinging on for dear life.

And then it was over, and there was solid ground beneath his feet once more.

Breathing hard, his eyes squeezed shut and his fingers still knotted in the back of Malfoy's robes, Albus whispered, “What the hell just happened?”

Malfoy was gasping for breath. “I don't know,” he admitted. He staggered back a little. “Let go of me, Potter, for goodness' sake.”

“Sorry,” Albus mumbled and let the boy go at once. He opened his eyes and saw nothing but darkness. “Where are we?” He could hear Malfoy groping around in the dark.

“I think we're still in the broom closet,” Malfoy announced a short while later. “Nothing's changed. Guess the stupid thing was broken, after all. Bummer.”

Something in Albus deflated. “Oh. At least we're not dead, I suppose.”

“Yes, that's always a plus.”

Albus straightened his tie and reached for the doorknob. When he opened the door a rush of light hit him in the face and he squinted. “Bloody hell,” he muttered.

“Weather's cleared up,” Malfoy said behind him. He was so close that Albus could feel the other boy's breath on the back of his neck.

“Yeah,” Albus said, leaning away from him. “Look, I've got to get going now—Potions is calling—but thanks; this has been an, ah, interesting afternoon.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Malfoy said dispassionately. “See you later, Potter.” When Albus began to walk back toward the stairs, Malfoy called, “Wait!”

Albus turned around. “What is it?”

Malfoy patted the front of his robes. “Don't you want your cloak?”

“Oh.” Albus trudged back toward the boy and held out an expectant hand. “Hand it over, then.”

“Why don't you ask me nicely?” Malfoy suggested with a smirk.

“I'm not in the mood for your games,” Albus said wearily. “Just hand it over.”

 _“...I don't believe so, Minerva."_ A man's voice floated down the stairs: quiet but commanding. _"If this was indeed Harry's doing then I'm sure we'd both be aware of it by now. I've never considered the boy to be a particularly skilful liar, have you?”_

 _“No, Headmaster,”_ muttered the unmistakable voice of Minerva McGonagall. Albus could hear the heavy sound of footsteps descending the stairs. _“No, I suppose you're right. Still, it's absolutely imperative that we get to the bottom of this as soon as possible. Something's happening at Hogwarts this year and I don't like it. I don't like it one bit...”_

Malfoy stared at Albus. “What the hell is going on?” he mouthed.

“I don't know!” Albus mouthed back. He had just enough time to yank Malfoy behind the suit of armour and out of sight before McGonagall and whomever she'd called 'Headmaster' came into view. When they finally did, Albus was utterly floored; his breath caught in his throat and he felt light-headed.

When he glanced at Malfoy, who was pressed against his side, he saw his own expression mirrored in the other boy's face. Malfoy was so pale he was almost grey, and his hands were trembling. “Dumbledore,” he whispered, and sucked in a huge breath. “That's … Oh my God, that's Dumbledore, isn't it?”

Albus felt sick. Surely this was a dream. He glanced back at the younger McGonagall, who still had a bit of colour in her hair, and the tall man with the silver hair and beard, dressed in purple robes and a matching hat, who was walking beside her, and slowly nodded his head. “Yeah,” he whispered back. “That's him alright.”

TBC


	2. Lost Boys

Scorpius waited until McGonagall and Dumbledore had exited through the front doors before he spoke. "This can't be happening," he said, turning to Potter. "This is literally impossible."

"It's not impossible," Potter snapped, and turned his back on Scorpius. He faced the wall, breathing shallowly, and added, "It's entirely possible and it's all  _your_ fault."

"How's that, then?" Scorpius sneered. Potter was right, of course. Scorpius knew this situation was entirely his own doing; but admitting so to Potter would mean conceding Scorpius had made a mistake in the first place, and that was far too close to an apology for his liking. Potter, the spoiled little brat, would just have to suck it up.

Potter turned on him then, bright green eyes ablaze with anger. "Because I told you not to do this!" he hissed. "The Time-Turner was defective, don't you get that? There was a reason it was abandoned. Instead of sending us back half an hour it's sent us back to Merlin knows when! I want you to fix this, and I want you to fix this  _now_!" He stomped his foot like a child and Scorpius was forced to resist a smirk.

"Oh for crying out loud, Potter, keep your panties on," he drawled, and held the Time-Turner up to the light. He tried to recall everything he'd read in  _The Time Traveler's Handbook_  about skipping forward in time. "Maybe if we just turn it the opposite way it'll reverse the process and we'll get back home." Potter said nothing, only glared daggers at Scorpius, who shrugged and said, "Hey, so do you think they were talking about your dad just now? I'm pretty sure they said the name 'Harry'."

Potter tensed up beside him. "My dad's not the only 'Harry' in the world, you know," the boy replied, scathingly. "And he was only here for six years, so for them to be talking  _specifically_ about him would be a mighty big coincidence, don't you think? And even if they were, I'm not sticking around to find out; not even for an hour. I don't want to see my dad when he was a kid."

"Why not?" Scorpius asked, genuinely confused by Potter's reticence. Scorpius wasn't about to admit it out loud but he  _did_ want to stay, even if only for a little while. He had his own reasons for wanting to see the younger version of his father.

"I just don't," Potter said, in a tone which implied this line of conversation was henceforth closed. "Leave it."

Scorpius stared at the back of Potter's messy black head. He'd long since given up on trying to form a more meaningful relationship with the boy—Potter was a closed book, and had made it very clear, from the moment they'd met, that he wasn't interested in being pals—but oftentimes Scorpius wished he could see straight through Potter and into his thoughts; understand him, even. Scorpius wasn't quite sure why he felt this way when Potter irked him so, but he had always been inexplicably drawn to the other boy, for better or for worse. Usually worse.

It wasn't something he was particularly proud of. He wanted to hate Potter for a myriad of reasons, but mostly because Potter was a privileged little prat who'd had everything in life handed to him on a silver platter, purely by virtue of being the great Harry Potter's son. The boy never failed a class, even when he was clearly stupid; he'd been made Gryffindor Seeker despite almost never practising; and last year he'd been made a prefect which, in Scorpius's opinion, had made Potter even more insufferable than he'd ever been before.

"Fine," Scorpius said, and pinched Potter's side. "Let's go."

"Ouch!" Potter exclaimed, whirling around and clutching his hip. "What the hell was that for?"

Scorpius held the Time-Turner between them and knotted his fingers in Potter's robes. "We're going," he said, somewhat bitterly. "Isn't that what you wanted? We're decades in the past; Albus Dumbledore's alive—Severus Snape, too—but, we're  _going home_." He offered Potter a tight smile. "What an adventure this has been."

"In case you'd forgotten," Potter spat, with a look of purest disdain, "Voldemort is  _also_ alive. We have, in all likelihood, landed ourselves smack bang in the middle of one of the bloodiest Wizarding wars of all time. I don't know about you, but I kind of want to get the hell out of here as fast as I can. You know—where it's safe?"

Scorpius blinked. "You're right," he breathed. "Voldemort  _is_ alive..." It hadn't struck him until now that this was real; that he'd truly gone  _back in time_ ; that Voldemort and all of his followers were probably out there and gaining momentum; that Scorpius's father was likely just a young boy, for the moment untouched by the ravages of war. It was a humbling thought and part of Scorpius couldn't fathom the thought of leaving without catching at least a fleeting glimpse of his father—though he doubted Potter was going to be at all receptive to the idea of staying here a second longer than they had to.

Potter nodded. "That's right. And unless you want to meet him you'd better get us the hell out of here before someone mistakes me for my dad."

Scorpius shook his head to clear it. “Fine,” he muttered. There was no point arguing with Potter—the dark-haired boy always managed to get his way in the end. Scorpius supposed Potter had had lots of practice in that area at home.

With this in mind, Scorpius gripped Potter's side a little harder, taking extra care to dig his fingernails into the boy's flesh, and gently nudged the hourglass with his finger. It wouldn't move. He nudged it again. It was still stuck.

Potter was watching with wide eyes. “Something wrong?” he asked tightly.

Scorpius took a deep breath and tried to move the hourglass once more. It still wouldn't budge. He looked up at Potter and said, “I think it's stuck.”

The other boy's expression immediately darkened. “What do you mean, you think it's  _stuck_?” he asked in a dangerously quiet voice.

“I mean exactly what I said,” Scorpius replied, quite matter-of-factly. “It's stuck. The thing's a piece of crap and it's stuck. But don't despair just yet, alright?” he placated in an attempt to ward off Potter's temper. “We can ask someone for help—McGonagall or Dumbledore,” he suggested. “Come on, I'm sure Dumbledore'll be able to help us. Wasn't he one of the greatest wizards of all time?”

Potter pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked defeated already. “And what are we going to say?” he gritted. “How are we going to explain who we are?”

“We tell the truth,” Scorpius said with a shrug.

“They'll look at us like we're insane.”

“I doubt it; those two would've seen stranger things in their time, and look—if we just explain what happened I'm sure they'll have us home tonight. No one even needs to know we were gone, so it's not like you won't be back in time to finish your stupid essay.”

Potter let out a humourless laugh. “I don't care about the damn essay, Malfoy; I just want to get the hell out of here.”

Scorpius considered the other boy carefully: He was tense and fidgeting, paler than milk, and anxiously chewing on his lower lip. He looked genuinely spooked. “Hey,” Scorpius offered, and sought the other boy's eyes. He wasn't quite sure how to even  _start_ offering comfort to another human being, but something about Potter's fear made him want to try. “Everything's going to be all right, you know,” he went on, rather awkwardly. “Nothing bad's going to happen to you; I'll make sure we're safe.”

“Don't make promises you can't keep,” Potter replied, his voice a whisper.

Scorpius grimaced.  _Well_ , he thought.  _At least I tried_. Sighing, he reached inside his robes and pulled out Potter's bunched up invisibility cloak. “Thank God for small miracles,” he muttered with a meaningful glance at Potter. “At least we have  _this_.”

Potter snatched the cloak from him. “I'll take that, thank you.” He peered around the side of the suit of armour and gestured for Scorpius to follow him. “Come on,” he said, and pulled the cloak over his head. “Get under.”

Scorpius did as he was told. “Hey,” he said, when they were both hidden beneath the cloak and shuffling toward the doors, “your dad used to have this, didn't he?”

“So?”

“So how can there be two of them in the same place at once?”

“You're asking the wrong person,” Potter told him, soft black hair brushing Scorpius's cheek. He carefully pushed open the heavy oak doors. “I don't know anything about the logistics of time travel—I thought that was more your area.”

“Where are we going?” Scorpius asked uneasily as they traipsed down the steps. The sun was blinding and the sweeping grounds familiar in an unsettling sort of way, as if nothing had changed but the weather and the position of the sun. The only notable difference was the absence of the white tomb on the shores of the lake.

Scorpius thought about the students in the castle—his own father and Potter's among them—who had no idea what was to come and how many of them would soon perish. All of a sudden he felt a little sick.

“We need to go somewhere and regroup. Somewhere we won't be found,” Potter said, breathing heavily. He smelled like apple shampoo and Pepper Imps and Scorpius  _hated_ being this close to him, though it was impossible not to be on top of each other under this cloak. Scorpius was sure their feet were visible.

“Why do we need to regroup?” Scorpius grumbled, leaning away from Potter and his apple-scented hair. “I thought we agreed we'd go and find Dumbledore.”

“We didn't agree on anything,” Potter reminded him. “You talked and I listened. But I'm not convinced that handing ourselves in to Dumbledore is the best thing to do; I need to think. This is all so insane and I just...”

“Where are we going?” Scorpius asked again, upon noticing they were headed toward the direction of the Whomping Willow. He dug his heels in and refused to move another inch until Potter answered him. Potter, of course, carried right on walking and took the cloak with him. Scorpius stood there, completely exposed and tapping his foot, and waited until Potter realised what had happened.

“Malfoy!” Potter growled.

“I want to know where you're taking me.”

“For goodness'—” Potter's disembodied hand shot out and grabbed Scorpius's wrist, dragging him back beneath the cloak. “Are you completely barmy?” Potter said between his teeth when Scorpius was safely concealed once more. “How are you going to explain yourself if someone bloody  _sees_ you? You and your father are probably the only two wizards in Britain with hair that colour!”

Scorpius offered Potter a sarcastic smile and patted the hair in question. “Thank you for noticing.”

“This isn't a joke,” Potter growled. His eyes flashed with warning. “What are you going to do if your father sees you?”

Scorpius let out an exasperated breath. “Wave and say hello?” he suggested, though honestly he wasn't at all sure how he'd react if he and the younger version of Draco Malfoy were to come face to face. Scorpius was simply bitter that he wasn't being given the opportunity to decide for himself whether or not that was what he wanted.

“This is dangerous,” Potter said then, in a calmer voice. “We both need to be careful so please, just this once, can you do what I ask? You need to take this a little more seriously than you are right now.”

“I  _am_ taking this seriously, Potter,” Scorpius answered, staring straight into Potter's eyes. “In fact, you've got no idea how much.” Potter gave him an odd look and Scorpius cleared his throat. “Let's just go,” he muttered, avoiding Potter's piercing gaze. “I've got some money; we'll go into the village and rent a room or something.” He blushed profusely after he'd said this; he wished he could take the sentence back and rephrase it in a more appropriate context but it was too late.

“Or we could just hide out in the Shrieking Shack until we figure out what to do?”

Beyond irritated with himself, Scorpius grabbed Potter's arm and made for the gates at the edge of the grounds. “No fucking way.”

Potter fell into an angry silence but allowed himself to be dragged away.

TBC


End file.
